


Last Remaining Purpose

by ikuzonos



Category: Dangan Ronpa, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Gen, NDRV3 Spoilers, the tenmiu is really minor but i did write it, very briefly implied past csa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-02 18:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10950705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikuzonos/pseuds/ikuzonos
Summary: Even three months after the fact, she’s still agonizing over it, and probably will for the rest of her miserable life.[Major Endgame NDRV3 Spoilers.]





	Last Remaining Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Four AU where Miu succeeds in killing Ouma.

While the eighty million yen itself was deposited into her newly opened bank account, the ceremonial cheque hangs over her bed. It taunts her; she can’t enter the room without seeing it. The giant framed paper is nothing but a sick reminder that she is a murderer.

Of course, it’s her own fault. She had every chance during the simulation that she had concocted to turn back. She didn’t have to boot Momota out early to frame him, didn’t have to plant a bottle of poison, didn’t have to hit Ouma over the head with a hammer.

The vote had been five-three in favour of Kaito Momota being the culprit. She would swear on her life that she didn’t breathe until it was over.

Even now, in the eerie, haunting silence of her own apartment, her heart scarcely beats. Perhaps it’s because she can still hear all the voices, ones of shock, fear, horror. Vicious accusations flung left and right, and her name being screeched, over and over again, damning her to hell.

It’s no secret that she had been hated. So why not go the whole way, make everyone openly _despise_ her in their remaining moments alive?

Her head beats louder than her heart. She’s not in hell quite yet, no. No, this is purgatory, because nobody’s sure what they can do with such a vile person who still lives.

This is the price a winner must pay, one that no sum of money can cure.

There is a strange agony that follows her everywhere she goes. Deep down, she knows it's the weight of being responsible for the deaths of eight people. ‘Don’t think about it,’ she’s told, by reporters and executives alike.

Every morning, she stares into her mirror and drags her fingers across her face, pinching even the slightest bumps.

“I… am Miu Iruma!” she screams, slapping a hand against her chest, “And I am _alive!”_

(It took two weeks for her to stop saying ‘a murderer.’)

Her hand closes into a fist, and slams against the sink. There’s a dent now, one that will only deepen with time. She’s already cracked the brand new mirror too, but that’s fine. She has more than enough money than she’ll ever need for the rest of her life, even if she nevers works a day.

She was born into blood and it looks as if she’ll live the rest of her life just staying above it.

-

“Bzzrpt! You’ve got that wrong!”

It’s disconcerting to hear Suckhara’s trademarked line come out of Monokuma’s mouth. What’s worse though, is what comes after. Momotitty’s scream of, “I fucking _told you_ I was napping!” and Harucuckwa’s horrified expression, and even Kiibaby’s wide, strained eyes manage to wound her.

But against Dekachin’s disbelief and Yuckmeno’s tears, the worst thing of all is the slow, sarcastic harmony of Shittygane’s claps.

“Well done, Iruma-san! Well done!” Shittygane laughs, “You’ve won!”

Half the class turns to the blue haired girl, while the rest of them stare at Miu.

Dekachin says sadly, “Iruma-san, are you really the murderer? Why would you do that to Ouma-kun, and frame Momota-kun for it?”

Suckhara blinks slowly, “Wait but…”

“Shirogane,” Harucuckwa says, “How did you know that Iruma was the culprit?”

Shittygane replies, “I suppose that it’s time to come clean… I’m the ringleader behind this killing game. Thanks you all so much for playing, especially you, Iruma-san! I must admit, I wasn’t expecting this outcome personally, but I think it’ll do wonders for our ratings.”

“Ringleader?!”

“...Ratings?”

“Ah…” Shittygane says, “I’ve neglected to mention it, haven’t I? That you’re currently on the fifty-third season of the most popular reality show in the world?”

Lips are moving and words are being exchanged, surely, but Miu doesn’t hear a word of it. The entire fucking time, she was certain that she would be escaping to a shitscape of a real world in order to save it. But… a reality show? That was something that had never entered the equation.

Had she killed over _nothing?_

Mother _fucker._

Shittygane beams, “Well, that’s all the time we have. It’s time for the main event, the executions! Goodbye, everyone! Perhaps we’ll all meet in the next life!”

“Oho!” Monokuma declares, “My, my, Shirogane-san! You’re so cheerful for someone who’s about to die!”

Shittygane’s composure slips, “W-What? What are you talking about?”

Monokuma says, “Did you _really_ think that you were exempt from the executions in the event of a mistrial?”

“Are you kidding?!” Shittygane shrieks, “I’m the mastermind! You _need_ me!”

Monokuma shrugs, “Not anymore… and besides, you’re only an intern! You’re replaceable.”

“N-N-No!” Genuine terror falls on her face, and a lump grows in Miu’s throat.

Monokuma leaps from his throne and heads right towards her, Monofunny and Monotaro backing him up. Miu dodges out of the way, but the bears change course on a dime. Maybe everything was a lie, even graduation, they’re going to kill her too- no. They’ve chased her to the elevator.

Miu spins around and shakes the bars that have slammed down, preventing her escape. They don’t budge, and her arms fall weak.

Dekachin has his head bowed and hands clasped in prayer, Harucuckwa is looking back and forth between Momotitty and Shittygane, both of whom are sweating bullets, Kiibaby is _screaming,_ and Yuckmeno and Suckhara have nothing but ghosts of other people in their eyes.

The machinery hums, slowly coming to life. Miu backs away from the bars, the skin on her palms raw. As the elevator rises, Monokuma shouts out to her.

“Oh! And since I’m _such_ a generous bear, I’ll give you your real memories back, Iruma-san!”

Miu doubles over, a pain like no other erupting in her head. The lava streams down her face, setting her aflame. The bloodcurdling screams of her classmates invade her ears and will not leave her no matter how high up the elevator goes.

At some point, she begins to scream along, because when the elevator finally opens, and a microphone is shoved in her face amongst the paparazzi bombarding her and the harsh sunlight slamming onto her sickly skin, Miu lets out a screech so loud that the entire crowd goes silent.

Her stomach heaves and she rocks back and forth for a moment, then bursts into tears.

-

According to Google Maps, the nearest ATM to her is at the 7-Eleven down the street. It’s open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, so she can go whenever she wants, even in the middle of the night.

Still, even the prospect of leaving the safety of her apartment scares her. She’d had to leave a few times, for Team _Dangan Ronpa_ mandated interviews, of course, but never of her own volition. There’s no telling what (or who) she’ll find in the streets.

So it isn’t until a late Tuesday night that she slinks out of her apartment, hair tied into a loose ponytail and body adorned in the most casual clothes she can find. She avoids stepping in the puddles caused by the streetlights, sticking to the stone cold shadows, until she arrives at the 7-Eleven with its eye searing neon.

An artificial bell chimes as she pushes the door open. The apathetic teenager behind the desk doesn’t even look up, letting Miu slip in easily. The ATM seems easy enough to use, and she procures just enough yen to buy something cheap. She’s been weary about having money on her person ever since she received the cheque.

Two hundred and fifty yen is enough for iced coffee, according to the cardboard sign that’s been tacked on the wall near the drink dispenser.

Miu silently pours herself a cup. Her stomach pangs as the overpowering scent fills the room. She can't remember the last time she consumed something that wasn't expired instant ramen or metallic tap water.

“Excuse me? Are you Miu Iruma?”

Miu spins around, pointing a plastic straw at this person behind her. It’s a teenager, a girl with tight blonde pigtails and shining brown eyes. She’s a tad taller than Miu, but seems to be looking up to her, enthralled.

“Er, yes?” Miu says. Maybe the girl wants her money.

“Oh!” the girl says, extending her hand, “I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Chiyoko Souma, and I’m your biggest fan!”

Miu pushes the neon green straw into Chiyoko’s hand and shakes her wrist up and down. The girl seems delighted by even that interaction, and her grin threatens to jump off her face and run away.

Chiyoko reaches into her pocket and produces a piece of cardboard and a pen, “Can I please have your autograph? I’ve been a fan of you ever since the fifty-third season aired, and I’m so, _so_ happy that you were the winner!”

Her throat tightens. Her iced coffee is sitting on the counter, drying out under the flickering lights. She silently takes the items from her, and signs the cardboard, ignoring the sound of her heartbeat in her ear. Miu passes the now autographed card and the pen back to Chiyoko, and tries not to grimace.

Chiyoko bounces on her heels, “Thank you! You know, I was thinking of auditioning for the fifty-fourth season. It would be so cool to finally experience the show from the inside!”

Ah. Suddenly, this girl is more than just a fan, she’s a long lost friend of Miu’s. Her shining eyes and wide smile bear too many memories of other people inside them.

“Don’t do it, kid,” Miu says, grabbing her iced coffee, “It’s really not all that it’s cracked up to be.”

Chiyoko deflates, but Miu considers that a job done. That’s one more teenager that might think again before auditioning for a reality show that’s killed hundreds of people.

With that, Miu pays for her coffee and disappears into the night, leaving the liminal 7-Eleven and the crushing sadness of a sixteen year old behind.

-

“So, Iruma-san,” the interviewer says, “How does it feel to be the sole survivor of this season of _Dangan Ronpa?”_

The interview is being held in a private studio, and thank god for that. Any kind of live audience would only make Miu sweat any more than she already is, thanks to both her nerves and the scratchy dress that the studio forced her to wear. Supposedly, the dress was to make her look ‘demure and sweet,’ but it was painstakingly obvious that it was designed to show off her breasts.

“It feels fuckin’ amazing!” Miu says, reciting the line off the cue card the producers gave her, “I'm on top of the world!”

The interviewer nods, “It's good to know that you feel that way. You seemed under a lot of distress when you first came out of the game, though. Care to comment?”

Miu tries not to flinch, “I was just swamped with adrenaline. I mean, I beat all those virgins. I guess I was just so excited that I got fuckin’ emotional.”

“That’s good to hear,” says the interviewer, “Many viewers expressed their concern for you, and a few wondered if you really did want to win.”

Miu waves her hand flippantly, “It was just the tension of the moment. Miu Iruma is alive and _thriving!”_

(She bites her tongue to prevent herself from adding ‘and a murderer.’)

Still, the thought of the viewers being concerned for her well-being makes her stomach twist. Should she feel anything in this regard? Admittedly, she’s not used to people caring about her.

“Lemme ask you a question for a change,” Miu says, diverging from the stilted script she was given, “How many people were watching that finale?”

The interview blinks a few times, but quickly recovers, “Supposedly, thirty million people saw it. Isn’t that spectacular?”

Thirty million. They could all be complete strangers, but they could be her friends, her teachers, her _father._

Suddenly, she’s transported back to her old, falling down house in Kamagasaki, with windows that won’t stay shut and a swamp of creaky floorboards. A house that reminds her only of unwanted kisses and stolen caresses, of nights where she never slept and strikes across the face and cologne and skin and teeth and-

“Iruma-san?!” The interviewer waves at the cameras to tell them to stop rolling, and puts a hand on her shoulder, “Are you okay?”

Miu stares at him blankly. Her head feels fuzzy.

He says, “You're hyperventilating. Okay, everyone, take five! Go calm yourself down.”

Miu nods and slowly stumbles away from the couch, her head spinning and her legs threatening to give out.

-

She never sleeps well at night. Miu stays up till the wee hours of the morning watching crappy television - either on the flatscreen in the other room, or on her laptop in her bed, blankets piled on top of her so high they could smother her - and when she does sleep, it’s never for long.

When she wakes up, her blankets are on the floor, or she’s wrapped so tightly in her sheets that she can scarcely breathe. Part of her wonders why she’s thrashing around so much in her sleep, but she supposes there’s a reason that she can almost never remember her dreams.

It’s a colder night when it first happens. Miu lies awake on her bed, tossing and turning under the layer of blankets. It’s ten past two in the morning and she’s absolutely exhausted, but for whatever reason, she can’t get to sleep.

Even three months after the fact, she’s still agonizing over it, and probably will for the rest of her miserable life.

Drowsily, she sits up to fluff one of the numerous pillows lying around. That’s when she sees it and screams, desperately throwing the pillows she was holding in her hands.

Kokichi Ouma is sitting at the end of her bed.

“Fucking pasty gremlin!” Miu shrieks as she topples off her mattress and lands on the floor in a heap.

Ouma chuckles, “Aw, no need to get so defensive, Iruma-chan! Nishishi…”

Miu gasps, “How did you get into my fucking apartment?! You fucker, I-”

The words _‘I killed you’_ die on her tongue.

Ouma raises a hand to his chest, “Now now, is that any way to greet a guest in your home? But I suppose that I could forgive you, just this once.” Slowly, he moves down from the edge of her bed to sit with her on the floor. As he moves, it hits her.

He’s translucent. This isn’t real.

As if he can read her thoughts - and considering he’s a very vivid hallucination, he probably _can_ \- Ouma says, “No need to panic, you're just as sane as you've always been. Whether or not that's a good thing is up to you.”

“What do you _want-”_ Miu clenches her fist- “you tiny rat?!”

Ouma tuts, “And here I was hoping things could be civil… but that's too difficult for you, isn't it? We're long overdue for a chat, Iruma-chan. Let's take this nice and slow.”

Miu kicks her bundled up legs fruitlessly, “Stay away from me, Ouma-san! I don’t _ever_ want to have this conversation!”

“Oh my, such courtesy!” Ouma responds, “I guess you really do only start to respect people when they’re dead.”

Miu bites down on her lip. He’s got her there. She opens her mouth to make a weak dispute, but then stops herself before she can do something stupid. Ouma’s not in front of her, there’s no such thing as ghosts. She’s talking to _herself,_ and it needs to _stop._

She slams her eyes shut and doesn’t open them again until hot sunlight shines in through her window, burning away the dust of any remaining spirits.

There is only one inhabitant of the apartment, even if she does carry the weight of eight other people on her back.

-

Silently, Miu turns the screwdriver to secure the bolts in the camera she’s building. It’s almost finished, but she wants to add a few of her own special finishing touches. After all, if Bakamatsu and Suckhara want it so badly, it might as well be the best of the best, right?

There’s a loud bang on the door. Miu shouts, “Come in!” and doesn’t look up from her handiwork.

“Iruma-san?” asks a polite voice, “Are you okay?”

Miu turns her head to see Chabashitra standing in the doorway, looking downcast. She kicks her leg up onto her desk and beams, “Why the ever loving fuck would I not be? Whaddaya need?”

Chabashitra comes closer to her, looking nervous for some reason, “Well… Tenko’s really worried about you. You’ve been in your research lab for so long, and Tenko thought that… maybe something happened. Was Tenko wrong to be concerned?”

Miu wipes her forehead, “Nah, your saviour is just working on something important. It’s all good!”

Chabashitra shuffles right up to her, face flushed, “A-Ah, Tenko is sorry for bothering you, then. May Tenko ask what Iruma-san is making?”

“That-” Miu grins- “is a secret, I’m sorry to say.”

Chabashitra still comes closer, until she’s practically pressed against Miu’s side. The edge of her shirt brushes up against the taller girl’s arm, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Whatever it is that you're making, Tenko is certain that it will be incredible.”

Chabashitra believes in her. This is how things should be, she's Miu fucking Iruma, she's a savant, a god!

So why does it feel so strange? Miu hasn't a clue.

-

All days are quiet, but today feels even worse somehow. Miu sits at her kitchen table, stirring the instant ramen around in the styrofoam bowl with a wooden chopstick. Her brain feels empty, her head heavy, and everything tastes like ashes.

She can't remember the last time that she didn't feel like absolute garbage.

It's no secret to her - she shouldn't be here. She should be dead and gone, and yet the universe seems to want to keep playing this awful trick on her.

_You are not a good person._

The thought will not leave her.

Miu tosses the chopstick at the wall, where it lodges in between two shoji panels. She stares at it blankly for a minute, waiting for it to fall and hit the floor, but it doesn't budge. At least she doesn't have to get up from her chair to pick it up now.

There's a knock on the door, a quiet one. Miu bites down on her lip and deliberates on whether or not she should answer it. Only Team _Dangan Ronpa_ \- who set her up in this apartment and agreed to pay the rent on it - knows where she lives.

Perhaps it's a nosy neighbour. Miu waits for the person to knock again, then gets up. She's admittedly starved for human interaction, but she also knows that she'll have no clue what to do with it once she gets it.

On the other side of the door is a boy with the same pink blonde hair as her. Miu stares at him for a long time, her hand unable to leave the back of the door. Yuuto Iruma - the brother three years her junior - is standing half a foot away from her.

“Hi, neesan,” Yuuto says quietly, “I've missed you.”

Miu moves her lips mindlessly, her jaw locked in shock. By the time she finds herself able to speak again, Yuuto is starting to look lost.

“Yuuto. It's been… a really long time,” she murmurs.

He nods, “It has.” He stands in her doorway, hands in the pockets of his slick leather jacket, dragging his shoes against the floor. Eventually he says, “Could I please come in?”

Miu mentally smacks herself. She's stupid, she's so, _so_ stupid, “Of c-course! Please do, actually.”

Yuuto sits on the floor by the door, leaning against the wall. Miu leans against the wall opposite, and stares at him a while longer. She's overjoyed to see him, but has no idea what she could say to him. She was never close with him.

“How's…” Miu stumbles, “How are our parents?”

Yuuto replies, “Dead. At least, otoosan is. I don't know where okaasan is, and I don't really care.”

Miu snorts, “About time that fucker croaked.”

Yuuto nods, not having a response. He sits silently on the floor across from her, and she soon finds herself unable to look at him. He stays for a few hours, but then eventually heaves himself up off the floor.

“Goodbye, neesan,” Yuuto says, “Maybe next time, you can come visit me.”

Miu nods, “Y-Yeah, I could do that. It was good to see you again.”

Yuuto nods, “You too.”

He leaves her in the dead silence of her ramen scented apartment. It doesn't strike her until he's long gone that she forgot to give him a hug.

-

Boys with checkered scarves and girls with pinwheel bows haunt Miu’s dreams. They dance in front of her whenever she closes her eyes, and no matter what she does, they will not leave her.

-

Ouma throws an alarm clock at Miu’s head, tossing any remains of sleep out the window. The clock luckily misses her, but it does cause her to fall from her bed and hit the floor less than gracefully.

“If you wanted my attention, you could have asked, like a normal person,” Miu grumbles.

Ouma replies, “But I'm _not_ a normal person, Iruma-chan! I'm a ghost! You'd know that best though, since you were the one to-”

Miu chucks the empty waste paper basket on her floor at Ouma before he can finish the sentence. It passes right through his midsection and hits the wall with a loud crash.

“Fucker.”

Ouma snickers at her, “Nice try. You can’t hurt me though, since I’m trapped in purgatory! Which is again, all your fault. I’d be roasting in hell where I belong, otherwise.”

Miu doesn’t really have a retort for that, and instead continues to lie on the hard floor, rubbing her fingers across the bumpy swirls in the planks.

Ouma continues, “We’re kindred spirits, Iruma-chan. Meant to die alone and unloved… It really makes you think!”

“Shut up, Ouma-san,” Miu mutters, not having the strength for a proper argument. She's still not ready to talk about the murder, even if Ouma’s more than willing to.

Surprisingly, he listens to her.

-

The funerals begin in late spring. Miu receives the letter of invitation from Team _Dangan Ronpa_ \- quite literally shoved under her door. He hands quiver as she reads through the details, and she wonders whether or not she should go.

She owes it to them all, no question, but her selfish insides don’t want to see their corpses lying in caskets, adorned in fine kimonos. She wants to forget that it all ever happened, but there’s nowhere she can go that doesn’t hold a sickening reminder of who she really is.

In a fit of fear, Miu shreds the letter, scattering the pieces all over her floor. Then, she spends the next hour gathering the scraps and piecing the sentences back together.

Despite all the forces compelling her to stay home, she attends. The funerals are being held one by one, just in case somebody wants to be there for all of them. Miu clenches her fists as she arrives, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

The night before, she’d spent two hours sitting in her bathtub, cutting her hair so short until it barely reached her chin. Now, wearing a slightly crumpled kimono that she’d pulled out of the back of her closet, Miu moves across the finely cut grass, and settles down on a hard plastic chair for Amami’s wake.

There’s six girls who sit in the other chairs, each clutching beads and in tears. Miu sneaks glances at them during the ceremony, while the priest chants a sutra that Miu can hardly follow.

After Amami is Akamatsu, whose funeral is even more poorly attended. Only an older man, a woman who looks like the faux pianist, and two teenagers have shown. Miu clasps the beads in her hands tightly, trying not to scream.

If Hoshi was somehow able to view his own wake, he would have probably been in shock. Parents, grandparents, siblings, and friends alike have swarmed the place, and standing the closest to the casket is a young woman who seems more infuriated than anyone that Miu’s seen today. Probably a girlfriend. She thinks Hoshi mentioned a girlfriend.

Only an older couple awaits Toujou’s wake. They remain completely neutral throughout the ceremony, and don’t speak even once. Miu avoids their icy gaze.

Angie’s is filled with people who must be her family. They’re loud and boisterous, all twenty-nine of them. From what Miu can tell, they also don’t speak a word of Japanese. If she squints, she can see Angie among them, smiling and lifting the littlest kids onto her shoulders.

Chabashira’s wake is difficult to sit through, Miu finds. There’s two other women - one who appears to be her grandmother - and a few small children. She clutches her beads and tries not to look up at the casket so that she won’t catch a glimpse of Chabashira in her kimono. Her corpse was hard enough to look at once.

Miu considers skipping Shinguuji’s, but forces herself not to leave. Instead, she stands and whispers a prayer alongside a tall woman with jet black hair and a short blond person. There’s a few students hanging around the edges of the funeral courtyard, but they don’t dare come too close. Miu wonders if Shinguuji used to be popular before the show aired.

Ouma’s funeral - attended by a hoard of clowns - is the worst one. Not ten seconds can go by before the thought _‘I killed you’_ passes through Miu’s head. Before leaving the house that morning, she promised herself that she wouldn’t cry, but here she is, sobbing her eyes out. The clowns don’t look at her, but she can feel their beady eyes piercing her skin whenever she turns her back.

One of the more well attended - and more expensive looking - wakes is Gokuhara’s. Miu watches his family and several large dogs give their respects to him, but clings to the back herself. She didn’t care for him enough when he was still alive, and he doesn’t deserve to have to deal with her sordid tears now.

Miu disassociates through most of Yumeno and Saihara’s funerals - the only guests at each being an old lady and a middle aged man respectively - and scarcely remembers the lavender haired woman or the two men at Momota’s.

She stumbles into Harukawa’s wake feeling exhausted and sick. Miu waits on one of the chairs for a good twenty minutes while the priest blatantly scrolls through Twitter. Nobody else arrives.

Eventually, the priest says, “Listen, we need to move on. Can we skip over her?”

Maki opens her mouth to protest, but she bites down on her tongue when the Team _Dangan Ronpa_ pin on the priest’s lapel glints in the sunlight, and she nods in silence.

The final wake is Shirogane’s, and the most populated. Everyone from corporate people to unpaid interns have flooded the tiny courtyard, completely overtaking it. Miu feels herself suffocating, and excuses herself in the middle of it.

She doesn’t stay for the cremations. She can’t watch them turn to ash, not when the same cinders spill out of her mouth whenever she speaks.

-

The pack of skittles hits the counter with a bit more force than necessary, but Miu doesn’t really care. After the torturous battlefield that was going to the supermarket, she’s home and still breathing.

“Ouma-san!” Miu shouts, locking her front door, “I bought what you asked for!”

He’s not the only ghost in the apartment, and certainly not the only one who’s demanded things. In her bags she has Momota’s candy canes, Yumeno’s fruit gummies, and Harukawa’s bubblegum, among other things.

(Deep down, she has no idea what she’s going to do with all the extra food.)

At dinner, she quietly eats her ready made curry while Angie drinks miso, Hoshi has a few sashimi rolls, and Akamatsu shares yakisoba with Saihara. Amami reaches over Shinguuji to pass Toujou some sake, while Gokuhara seems invested in Shirogane’s conversation.

Miu looks over at Chabashira, who’s picking mindlessly at her tempera. The black haired girl murmurs, “I wish this didn’t have to end.”

Her blue eyes meet Chabashira’s green for a moment, as the faux aikidoka gives her a sad little smile. Then she begins to fade, and Miu’s soon left alone at her kitchen table, just as the lightbulb above flickers out.

Piles of uneaten food sit all around, and she sighs, resting her head on the wood. This is the price she has to pay now.

-

Boys with checkered scarves and girls with pinwheel bows haunt Miu’s dreams. They dance in front of her whenever she closes her eyes, but as much as the begs for them to remain in her life, they will not stay with her.

-

She gets an email on the day that the announcement that ‘Season Fifty-Four of _Dangan Ronpa_ is officially in production’ is revealed. It’s one of the executives, and she hesitates to click on it.

It’s a concise message that boils down to the fact that Miu will not be returning to the new season as the new Super High-School Survivor, thanks to ‘a personal request from an anonymous friend.’

At first, Miu stares at it blankly, doused in confusion. She doesn’t have any friends, let alone a friend that would go to that extent for her.

In the back of her mind, she hears a familiar childish giggle, and then a scolding remark. She leans back in her seat with her eyes closed for a moment, revisiting her older memories.

She doesn’t have to go back. It should scare her, really, that there are sixteen new people who have entered the slaughterhouse that is _Dangan Ronpa,_ but she’s decided she can allow herself to be selfish, just this once.

Maybe now, Miu thinks, she can finally pick up the pieces of her life, and find the remaining purpose she left behind.

**Author's Note:**

> couple notes  
> -eighty million yen is about a million dollars  
> -kaito going to take a nap after getting booted from the sim early is the most relatable thing ever  
> -i regret 'harucuckwa' more than anything else in my life  
> -japanese 7 elevens don't sell slurpees but they do sell just about everything else in the world  
> -gratuitous oc cameo?? gratuitous oc cameo  
> -two hundred fifty yen is about three dollars  
> -kamagasaki (in osaka) is the biggest slum in all of japan
> 
> thank u for reading this self indulgent hell fuck


End file.
